


Dearly Beloved

by Lavendergaia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 04:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5034472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavendergaia/pseuds/Lavendergaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip and Skye's wedding is going to be beautiful, romantic, and memorable--or at least it will be once maid of honor Jemma Simmons is done with it. When she finally meets Leo Fitz, Trip's old friend and the wedding's best man, she suddenly thinks all of the wedding planning might be interesting too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dearly Beloved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fitzsimmonsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzsimmonsy/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Maggie!!! I hope you love this as much as I love you <3 <3
> 
> It wouldn't be enough to say thank you to ardentaislinn for betaing--she practically deserves cowriter credit for making this readable.

Jemma first meets him at the Welcome Home/Secondary Engagement Party. He missed the first one and Skye would never miss a chance to throw another party to celebrate the fact that she’s finally getting married. Trip wraps him up in a big bear hug and Skye is practically humming with joy. “It’s about time you got back, _Leopold_ ,” she says with emphasis on the name, a teasing lilt to her voice. “He wouldn’t let us get married without you. Every time I suggested he find another best man, he cried.”

“It would have been Hunter,” Trip says, one arm still around Fitz.

“And then I cried.” Skye reaches back for Jemma and tugs her into the huddle. “This is Jemma, she’s my everything. And my maid of honor.” When Skye grins over at Jemma, she has that bride-to-be glow. “Jem, this is the prodigal best man, Leo Fitz.”

He looks fairly exhausted: his hair and clothes are disheveled from the plane, he hasn’t even had a chance to put down his carry on yet, and he stares over her shoulder at the refreshment table before he meets her eye. But she feels a surge of warmth in her chest when he smiles at her and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jemma.”

“Welcome home,” she says and she can see the first bit of life in his eyes.

There’s a lot of people for him to say hi to—it is technically his welcome back party after all—but eventually they settle down to chat in the loveseat she and Skye had found for their first apartment. Jemma tucks her legs under her as she listens to him talk about where he’s been for the past few years. He seems bored of the story even as he tells it, but Jemma listens enraptured. “And so I just came back from Morocco,” he finishes with a sigh, scrubbing his hand over his face before looking at his watch. “Where it is now…almost 4 in the morning.”

“That’s amazing,” she says, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “It must be incredible to see the world.”

“Don’t get to do much seeing when you’re working,” he says.

She shrugs lightly, taking a sip of her beer. “Still. Just to go someplace, be somewhere new. Adventure. Sounds exciting.”

Nodding, he licks his lips slowly. “Yeah, suppose. But I’m looking forward to being here for a little while and not going anywhere. I’ve told them I can’t travel again until at least after the wedding, so maybe they’ll see I’m more useful here and I can stick around long term.”

He yawns, excusing himself, and as she covers up a smile she says, “Can I see your phone?” Fitz raises his eyebrows at her, but hands it over. He hasn’t even switched back to Eastern Time yet, she notes as she taps her number into his contacts list. “I know you’re staying with Trip and Skye until you can get settled into your new place, but you know, if you need anything. Plus, you’ve missed out on what Skye surely thinks are some very crucial wedding planning meetings already, I’d be happy to catch you up.”

His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners as he laughs, staring down at her name on his screens. “Thanks, Jemma.”

She leaves not long after, when Fitz is barely hanging on to what’s left of his consciousness and Trip and Skye are tired of people in their house. As she gets into bed that night, tired but content, she’s almost fully drifted off to sleep when she hears the sound of her phone buzzing. Picking it up, there’s a text message from an unknown number. _Hey, it’s Fitz. Just wanted you to have me too. :)_

Smiling to herself, she saves the contact to her phone before texting back: _Thanks. :D Now go to bed! You’re exhausted._ Then she falls into a heavy, peaceful slumber, hoping that he’s only a few miles away doing the same thing.

* * *

Fitz blends seamlessly with their group and she’s not sure why she ever had doubts that he wouldn’t. He and Trip have known each other for longer than she’s even known Skye and the three of them have endless fun catching up. When he comes out to trivia night at the bar, he’s her only competition until they decide to team up and slaughter everyone. Most importantly, he’s someone Hunter can talk footy with so he’ll stop boring everyone else with it.

It would almost be like he’d never left except that Jemma is constantly learning new things about him. She’d known he’d been a child prodigy like herself—Skye thought it was funny that she and Trip had, in her words, “both collected one.” But the more they got to talk about their individual work, the more she realized just how brilliant he was and how much she enjoyed talking to him even more than her own colleagues. And she learned how much he loved his mum, how the only placed he would agree to be stationed full time other than here would be back in Scotland. And she learned that he didn’t really have great taste in clothes, but that Skye was desperately trying to fix that because “you are a representative of my wedding and my marriage, both of which are going to be beautiful, you need to look the part on a daily basis.”

There was one thing she hadn’t expected to learn: “You haven’t seen _any_ of the Capaldi episodes?”

He shrugs, popping a handful of pretzels in his mouth. “Never got a chance. I was always out of the country and there wasn’t BBC. I mean, really though, can anyone top Tennant?”

“I’m not saying that it tops him, but there’s a lot to be said for his run so far. And Clara is great.”

He takes a moment to acknowledge something Hunter says to him before looking back at Jemma. “Maybe we can watch it sometime or something.” He ducks his head immediately after his suggestion, focusing on his beer instead.

Jemma takes it to heart.

When he shows up to her apartment a week later, his hands are in the pockets of his jeans and he’s standing restlessly in her doorway. “I, uh, brought the list from Trip,” he says, flashing a piece of paper at her.

“Thanks.” She takes it from him and invites him in. “So, uh, do you still not have anything to do tonight?”

He looks at her curiously, then shakes his head. “No, I just planned to come here and help you with seating. Why, what’s up?”

She twists her fingers together anxiously, Trip’s list wrinkling in her grasp. “Well, I just thought, you know, we’ve been assigned this task anyway, and you and I haven’t really gotten to hang out much together. I thought why not make it fun? So I ordered some food from this good Italian place down the street and I set up Netflix, thought we might be able to watch the Capaldi episodes while we work. I mean, two people like us should be able to multitask.” He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at her with wide eyes. Her heart drops into her stomach. “I mean, if you’re not up to it or you have other things to do or you don’t want to, it’s okay, I’m sure we can get through the seat assignments quickly, I only need a bit of your input—”

“I want to!” he says quickly, mouth fumbling over the words in an effort to get them out. As if to make his point, he takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hook near the door. “I’m just—surprised. That’s really nice of you. I didn’t think you would want to do all that.”

“Well. I do.” He’s staring at her expectantly and she drops her gaze as her cheeks redden. Walking past him into the kitchen to get them both drinks, she says, “Food will be here soon, I figured we’d start with the seating now and get the show going once it gets here.”

When she returns to the living room, he’s sitting on her couch looking over what’s she’s started for the seating arrangements. He thanks her for the beer, then says, “Did you cut out little tables?”

She goes scarlet as he holds up one of her little diagram tables from the larger diagram ballroom. “I work better with a physical model,” she says, taking a large gulp of her beer.

“So do I,” he says, looking at the color coded name stickers to the side. “Scientists, I guess.” He takes a sip of his beer, then—to her great delight—sets it on a coaster to the side. “Trip said that you needed my help for his side of the guests.”

“I know everyone that Skye invited,” she says, gesturing to the lime green stickers. “I know who shouldn’t be sitting with whom and all that. And I know a lot of people from Trip’s side, but your guidance on specific matters would be appreciated.” She lowers her voice shamefully. “He has a _lot_ of aunts and uncles.”

Fitz laughs and nods. “Yeah, went to his house for more than a few Thanksgivings. Took me a few years to get all the names right. The list should help with all the big no-nos, I’ve been out of the loop for a while and I’m missing a lot of the Triplett/Carter family drama, but I’m here to help. And as Skye put it, it’s about time I get of my ass and started to do something around here for this wedding.”

Wincing despite her chuckle, Jemma said, “That is what you came back from Morocco for, isn’t it?”

Licking his lips, he sends her a crooked grin. “Yeah, kinda.”

They work on the seating arrangement for almost twenty minutes, trying their best to integrate the soon-to-be-newly-joined families and friends while causing the least amount of drama. When the food arrives, Fitz insists on tipping the delivery driver and Jemma clears their work off to the side before getting plates.

Fitz is biting into his first piece of pizza and Netflix is loading when something occurs to her. “Oh, I’m supposed to ask you if you’re bringing a plus one. There wasn’t an actual RSVP card from you.”

“Oh, yeah, they didn’t send me one,” he say, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Didn’t want to pay the postage. But no, I wasn’t planning on—there’s no one here. Or anywhere. So no. That’s one less seat to worry about.” He takes another bite of his pizza, then says, speaking around his food, “What about you?”

“No, I’m going to be far too busy with Skye and her plus one to think about entertaining anyone else.”

She knows that she could bring a date if she wanted to—Skye even said that her plus one could sit at the main table—but it’s not something that she particularly cares about. She dates often enough, she supposes, for someone as dedicated to her career as she is. There isn’t anyone that she can think of that she likes enough to bring them to a wedding, her best friend’s wedding, to have them as part of the memory of this special day. It’s not hard to wonder if she might feel a little bit left out, being the only one without someone. Trip and Skye will obviously be so in love that no one else will matter, Bobbi and Hunter have each other, Mack is bringing a date… Jemma’s suddenly relieved that Fitz doesn’t have a date either.

He nods and purses his lips, then picks up the paper for the head table and rearranges the stickers. When he shows it to her, the shuffle has Fitz between herself and Bobbi with Sharon moved over next to Trip’s parents. “We can be alone together.”

Her heart skips a beat as she smiles at him. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

They get through more than half of Doctor Who series 8 before they find themselves nodding off on the couch, her head slumping on to his shoulder. As Fitz finally excuses himself to leave, pulling on his jacket, he runs his hand nervously through his hair. “Did you, uh, you have any plans for tomorrow night?”

“Uh, no, I’ve got nothing scheduled,” she says as she picks up their beer bottles and puts them in her recycling bin, trying to keep her voice even.

“Maybe we could finish up the series tomorrow. You know, we’ve still got to sort through some numbers for the caterers for the buffet. Dinner’s on me tomorrow.” He offers her a small smile. “There’s a really good burger place that hasn’t changed in all the time I’ve been gone. I can pick it up on the way.”

His blue eyes are wide and maybe even a bit hopeful. Unable to keep from smiling, she says, “That sounds good.”

He seems surprised that she agrees, raising his eyebrows at her before he grins. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Fishing his keys from his pocket, he hesitates for a moment at her door. “Thanks, Jemma.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming. Oh, and, and helping with the seating arrangements, of course.” Since that’s what this is supposed to be about. “Good night, Fitz.”

There’s a moment when he looks like he might do something, hug her perhaps, but then seems to think better of it. He gives her a small wave before heading out and she leans against the door with a hand over her heart, feeling her pulse flutter under her fingers.

* * *

One of her favorite things about Skye is her good taste: her good taste in friends, her good taste in fiancés, and her good taste in fashion. Not a single one of the selections for bridesmaid dresses is ugly and Skye is giving her free rein on her choice of maid of honor gown (within reason and subject to approval with ultimate veto power, of course). She’s already decided on something midnight blue, something darker as opposed to the more cerulean that Bobbi and Sharon are going to wear. As they debate over a style of dress that will fit their vastly different body types, she is bombarded by options of styles by Skye, who is walking around with her wedding dress strapped to her body to see how she moves in it before it goes in for final alterations.

There’s so many to choose from: strapless, halters, tea-length, floor-length, dresses that she wouldn’t wear to a nightclub let alone a wedding. They discard a few choices because of too many ruffles or the dress being too plain or, in Bobbi’s words, “like you’re going to junior prom.” The first dress she actually models in front of the mirrors is a bit too long, covering her feet even in the available heels. She wrinkles her nose at how visible the freckles on her shoulders are in the strapless bodice, but she likes the flow of the skirt. It makes her feel a bit like a princess.

She doesn’t realize that anyone else has entered the room until she hears him say, “Wow.” Spinning upon the pedestal in front of the mirrors, she turns to Fitz in shock, arms crossed over her chest. They stare at each other in silence for a minute and to Jemma it feels like the sound of the entire room has muffled, hushed, muted.

Then Skye calls, “What are you doing here? Is it bad luck for you to see the bride in her wedding dress?”

“I’m not marrying you,” he says.

“I might change my mind, with you looking so dapper,” she says and Jemma notices for the first time that he’s wearing a tux and he looks amazing in it and she can’t imagine how she couldn’t have torn herself away from his eyes to see it.

Gesturing to the suit, he says, “This is why I’m here. We’re next door getting fitted and Trip said you wanted final say on the tuxedos before he put down the deposits.”

“Right, right.” She scrutinizes him for a minute, circling him to see the tux from all angles. Nodding in approval, she takes his arm and drags him next to Jemma, picking up his tie and holding it up to the side of Jemma’s dress. “Good, it matches.”

Jemma can feel herself flush down to the neckline of the dress. She’s suddenly extremely sensitive to the heat of Fitz’s body through the thin chiffon fabric of the skirt. Skye snags a swatch of the color that Bobbi and Sharon are working with and hands it to Fitz. “Make sure the groomsmen get ties in this color, but I want their pocket squares to be white.”

Nodding, he says, “Done.” His features soften as he takes Skye’s hand and twirls her in front of him; Jemma’s heart aches. “You look beautiful, by the way. You’re going to be the most gorgeous bride.”

“It’s too late for you to win me over now. You’ll just have to fight Trip for me.” Leaning over carefully, Skye kisses him on the cheek and whispers, “Thanks, Fitz.” As she drifts away to check on Sharon and Bobbi trying on their dresses, she leaves him with a wink over her shoulder.

Adjusting his tie, Fitz takes a step back and lets his eyes pan up Jemma. Her insides twist anxiously but her body doesn’t move under the power of his gaze. “You look…” he trails off in search of a word and the way his tongue plays at his lips, she can think of a few herself. “You look amazing. Is that, uh, is that what you’re wearing to the wedding?”

“Possibly.” She picks up the skirt so she can step off the pedestal and he instantly offers her his hand so she doesn’t lose her balance. She can feel the warmth of his palm on every part of her. “You like it?” He nods instantly, his free hand brushing her hair off her bare shoulder. A shiver courses down her spine and she ignores it by focusing on his tie. “I like that we match.”

He inhales sharply as she drums her fingers against his pocket square, then he bites his bottom lip. “Yeah, yeah.” Gesturing over his shoulder, he says, “I should get back to, um, you know, uh…Trip! Yeah, Trip.”

She nods, whispering goodbye as he quickly sees himself out of the boutique. It’s suddenly cold, and she wraps her arms around herself, staring at the floor once he’s no longer in sight. Someone clears their throat and she looks up to see Skye, Sharon, and Bobbi all staring at her with obvious interest. Skye raises an eyebrow at her, a clear question.

Turning to look at herself in the mirror once more, Jemma can see the pink in her cheeks and the way her chest heaves in the bodice as she breathes heavily. She turns back to Skye with a tremulous smile. “I want this one.”

* * *

Bobbi plans the bachelorette party. Traditionally, that’s a job for the Maid of Honor, but Jemma knows her strengths and weaknesses and it’s better left in Bobbi’s hands. They start at Skye’s favorite restaurant before going to a bakery after hours to gorge themselves on premium pastries. Their final destination is a club where Bobbi’s booked the VIP room—she says it’s because it’s a special night and not because there’s a stripper coming, but they all know better.

By the time the second round of drinks get going, Skye is obviously having the time of her life. Jemma is the only one not drinking; she agreed ages ago to be the designated driver and she has to get Skye to the spa for her appointment by eleven tomorrow morning, which is going to be a Herculean effort in itself if her bride gets wasted. “Gift bags!” Skye calls out suddenly, pointing to Jemma. “I want to do gifts!”

Rolling her eyes in amusement, Jemma digs out the gift bags that she’d put together, handing them out to the attendants and keeping aside the special ones for the bridal party. The girls laugh at the naughty merchandise and coo at the nail polishes in Skye’s wedding colors and personalized shot glasses. It’s only Sharon, Bobbi, and Jemma who have something a bit extra at the bottom of their bag. “Garters?” Sharon says, twirling it around her finger.

“That was one of the traditions that I would not let your family talk me into doing!” Skye says, pointing at her almost accusatorially before taking another sip of her drink. “But I’m still wearing one and I want you guys to as well. It’ll be our little secret. And I want you guys to look super hot and hook up with cute guys at my wedding.” She pauses to think about that, her straw still resting on her bottom lip. “Well, maybe not _at_ my wedding…”

Sharon laughs and she and Bobbi pull Skye over to them for a group hug as Jemma grins. She’s signaling the waiter for another round for the girls when she gets the first text from Fitz. _How’s the bachelorette party going?_

Jemma calls them over to take a picture and though the low lighting of the club casts them all mostly into shadows, she assumes he’ll get the idea and sends it to him anyway. _What about the bachelor party? Strip club, I assume?_

He texts back almost immediately. _Nope. Bowling._ Jemma stares at her phone incredulously until she received a video from him a minute later. She can’t hear the sound over the music, but she can see Trip joyously holding up a bowling ball before it pans to Hunter grumpily drinking a beer. It ends with Fitz flipping the camera on to himself and he shoots her a wry smile. His next text quickly follows: _He insisted that it was the only thing he wanted to do._

Jemma can’t help but smile and she calls to Skye, “Trip loves you.” It’s something she needs to say, even though she knows that Skye knows better than anyone.

Blowing her a kiss, Skye says, “Tell him I love him! 30…something more hours and he’s all mine!”

She texts Fitz to pass on the message before Skye comes to sit next to her. She opens up her clutch and presses a small velvet box into Jemma’s hand. Curious and a bit taken aback, Jemma pries it open and her heart lodges into her throat. It’s a simple sapphire pendant, set in gold and surrounded by smaller diamonds. Skye beams at her as tears prick at Jemma’s eyes. “I thought you would look beautiful in this.”

“I can’t—Skye, I can’t accept this.”

“No, no, it’s your maid of honor gift,” Skye insists, squeezing Jemma’s arm. “Apparently that’s tradition too. And you’ve worked just as hard on this wedding as I have. Seriously, I _never_ would have gotten through all of this without you. You know I hate all of this wedding stuff and I’m not a planner, you’ve done all of the hard, annoying things. I get to do the fun getting married things.” When Jemma still hesitated, she said softly. “I thought it would look pretty with your dress.”

Swallowing hard, Jemma nods. “It would.”

“It’s a thank you from me and Trip and a way for us to say we love you.” She leans her head against Jemma’s shoulder, snuggling close. “Please say you’ll wear it.”

“Of course I will.” She curls closer to Skye, kissing the top of her head. “I love it. Thank you.”

Skye pulls her into a hug and they hold each other for a long time. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Skye.”

After the tears have been dried and Jemma has slipped the necklace into her purse, Skye pulls her to her feet. “Now, you have to dance with me. Bride’s orders!” Jemma laughs, but there isn’t a single part of her that wants to protest. Surrounded by her friends and the joy of the moment, the night slips away.

Hours later, she tucks Skye into her own bed, hoping her best friend sleeps soundly through the night and rises without a hangover in the morning. She looks almost innocent, curled up into Jemma’s oversized pillows and Jemma takes a quick picture and sends it to Trip to let him know his bride-to-be is home safe and sound.

She gets a video in return, which is of a not quite sober Trip exclaiming, “Skyyye. I love Skye! I love her so much, you guys, she’s so amazing and beautiful.” Behind him, Hunter is trying to usher Trip into the car and sends a glare at the camera.

Feeling restless, Jemma settles on the couch with a cup of tea and a novel she’s been meaning to get through for at least a month now, hoping that it’ll lull her into some form of sleepiness. She’s barely made a dent in the first chapter when she gets a Facetime request from Fitz. She runs her fingers through her hair before answering it, making sure to smile at the camera. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says and she recognizes the color behind him as the one she and Skye had helped him pick out and then paint in his new bedroom. “So, Skye have a good night?”

“She did. She’s staying over so I can make sure she has a good morning, too. We’ve got a full spa day tomorrow, can’t have her hungover and crabby.” Holding the phone in one hand, she stretches her other arm above her head. “Seems like Trip ended up enjoying himself.”

Fitz rolls his eyes. “Hunter thought if he got him drunk, Trip would agree to a strip club. Failed hypothesis. And since I didn’t sign up for a drunk Trip, I made sure Hunter took responsibility for getting him home. He’s stronger than me anyway.”

“Well played.”

“I like to think so.”

She stares at him for a moment, appreciating the day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and jaw. Shaking herself, she says, “I keep thinking we’re forgetting something.”

“Yeah, same,” he says with a shrug. “We’ll probably feel that way until their last dance. I wouldn’t worry about it now. Go to sleep, you look tired.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“No, I didn’t—” He lets out a frustrated sigh before trying again. “You look beautiful, you’re always beautiful, you just look like you need some rest. You’ve been working as hard on this wedding as anyone, you deserve it.”

Her mind is so caught up in his words, she can hardly focus on his appreciation for her efforts. “Thanks,” she says softly and she’s not even sure if he heard it. Clearing her throat, she adds, “I’ll text you tomorrow if I think of anything.”

“They let you keep your phone at the spa?”

“As if Skye would go any place that would confiscate her phone.”

He snorts. “Right, ‘course. Okay. Talk tomorrow then. Night, Jemma.”

“Night, Fitz.” Feeling calm and settled, she quickly finishes up her tea and gets into bed next to Skye.

Before she can close her eyes, her phone chines with a text message. _Almost forgot_ , Fitz sends her, followed by a picture. It’s of him holding a cheaply made trophy and a certificate definitely made in Microsoft Word that reads “Winner! Antoine Triplett’s Bachelor Bowling Bash!” Trip is hanging over his shoulders and smiling widely while Fitz doesn’t try to hide his laughter. _Physics always wins._

She smothers her laughter in her pillow so as not to wake Skye, then falls asleep staring at his amused smirk.

* * *

Despite all of her planning—and Jemma Simmons is very good at planning—she’s not sure that there’s a way to have a wedding that doesn’t feel at least a little bit frantic. Everyone is rushing trying to sit for the makeup artist and get their hair done and not mess up what has already been perfected. Not even the mimosas are helping, even though they’re all generously partaking.

Skye herself can’t seem to stop nervously pacing around the room. They’ve corralled her into stopping for various necessities and are trading out pep talks as necessary. It’s clear that it’s just normal bride anxieties, but Jemma can’t help but feel sympathetic to her friend’s nerves.

Jemma squeezes her hand as they try to set Skye’s hair for the tenth time—she’s making it difficult with her inability to sit still. “Hey, who loves you more than Trip?”

Calm washes over Skye as she smiles at her, brown eyes big and lined with tears. “You, maybe.”

Kissing the back of her hand, she says, “I’m happy to concede this to him.”

Gripping her hand tightly, Skye swallows hard. “What if everything goes wrong?”

“Trip will still want to marry you.” It’s a promise she knows she can keep. “And you wanted to do this in Vegas anyway.” Across the room, Mrs. Triplett shoots them a sharp look. “If everything here goes wrong, I bet Fitz has a lot of frequent flier miles we can steal.”

Skye laughs weakly. “Okay. Deal.”

Despite everything, they manage to get everyone ready and down to the chapel on time. Jemma knows that Skye didn’t want a big wedding, that she only agreed to it all because it made Trip and his family happy, but she can’t help but acknowledge how stunning her best friend looks in her gown ready to walk down the aisle to meet the love of her life.

After the bridesmaids and groomsmen make their processional, it’s Jemma’s turn down the aisle. She gives Skye a quick kiss before taking the floor. The first person she sees is Trip, who is overflowing with excitement. He winks at her and she grins back before looking to his left. Fitz’s gaze is indecipherable as he stares at her, but there’s a power behind it that shakes her to the core. She almost stumbles as she stares back at him but doesn’t break eye contact as she makes it all the way up the aisle to take her place next to the bridesmaids.

Only when the music starts to play for Skye do they look away from each other and focus on what’s truly important. She’s radiant as Coulson walks her down the aisle and Trip looks like he can hardly stand still waiting for her to reach him. As they reach the end of the aisle, Coulson kisses Skye’s cheek before Skye turns to Jemma to hand her her bouquet to hold. Jemma’s relieved to see she’s not the only one who’s started to cry. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too,” Skye says back, squeezing her hand before turning to her groom.

It’s hard to rein in her emotions as she listens to the ceremony, to her two best friends talk about how much they love each other. Across the aisle, Fitz looks just as sentimental as she feels. She doesn’t realize how long she stares at him until he glances towards her, catching her gaze. Her heart leaps into her throat and her breathing goes shallow as he draws his tongue over his bottom lip. Slowly, he smiles at her and her fingers tighten around Skye’s bouquet as she smiles back.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur and she can’t remember if she even sees the exchanging of the rings or them kiss for the first time as husband and wife—all she can remember is that Fitz’s eyes are the same color as his tie, as her dress. Still, she joins the cheers as Trip and Skye are announced to the world as a married couple for the first time, and she hands Skye back her bouquet as they make their way back up the aisle. As rehearsed, Fitz offers her his arm so they can follow them—Jemma doesn’t remember the goosebumps up her arms and down her back being part of the plan.

They give Trip and Skye a few minutes to themselves to bask in the joy of their marriage. When they can finally pull themselves apart for more than a few minutes, the wedding party is shuffled into pictures. It’s organized chaos: the bride and groom with their families, the respective wedding parties, she and Fitz with Trip and Skye.

When the photographer pulls her aside to stand with Fitz, his hand falls low on her hip, fingers sinking into the delicate fabric of her dress. In her heels, they’re almost the same height and her eyes roam his face for a moment. Their eyes meet and she allows her hand to fall against his chest until she realizes that the camera is already clicking. Smiling wide, she turns to face the photographer. The flash blinds her, but she can still feel the silk of his tie tucked between her fingers.

Skye glows as she enters the reception hall with Trip on her arm, as if all the light is shining from within her. They thank everyone for coming to their wedding, for joining them on the happiest day of their lives. As the band cues up the song for their first dance, Jemma feels Fitz’s arm around her shoulders. Looking over at him in surprise, her heart leaps at his tender smile. “I’m glad we could help them get here,” he whispers.

“Me too.” She leans into his arm, letting his warmth seep into her bare shoulders as she watches the dance in front of her. They’re graceful, athletic people the both of them, but they seem more interested in each other than any sort of movement. Jemma thinks that’s exactly as it should be.

Eventually, people start intermingle amongst each other. Hunter and Bobbi join the dancing. Fitz’s thumb strokes her shoulder before he leaves the table and she’s left to herself to watch the festivities, a warm glow in her chest. Everyone looks happy to be there, happy for the couple; most importantly, Skye and Trip look happy. Jemma thinks she might even be happy too.

Fitz returns with an overly full buffet plate and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Hungry, are we?”

“Half of this is for you,” he says and starts piling food in front of her. She’s surprised, but picks up a stuffed mushroom cap anyway and he looks pleased. “I know you’ll be too focused on making sure everything is going well to get food for yourself.”

Beaming, she picks up her fork and digs in to the salmon, heart fluttering at a beat far faster than the tango that has Coulson sweeping May off her feet.

After she’s finished eating, Skye pulls her out on the dance floor—says it’s her right as the bride to dance with anyone that she wants. Even if she weren’t already thrilled about the outcome of the day, Skye’s exuberance is catching as they spin around the dance floor. They laugh and cling to each other, hearts filled with love.

She’s passed around to Trip, Coulson, and even Hunter before making her way back to the table. Fitz has been chatting with one of Skye’s friends, Scott Lang, but he smiles at her as she takes her seat. “You look good out there,” Fitz says as Scott heads over to the buffet.

Laughing, she takes a sip of her water. “I’m not really the best dancer, actually. I think I stepped on Coulson’s feet a few times.”

“I do think I saw him limping,” Fitz teases and she swats at him. He chuckles and his eyes shine from the candles littered across the table. “Having a good time?”

“Of course.” She regards him carefully. “Are you?”

“I am, yeah.” Seemingly out of nowhere, May appears at the front of the table and hands Fitz a microphone. He sighs as he stands. “But I’m not going to enjoy this.” Clearing his throat, he taps his fork again his champagne flute. The sound reverberates throughout the room. Looking around, Jemma can see that Trip and Skye are already back in their seats and Jemma wonders how she could have been so focused on Fitz that she didn’t notice Skye sitting right next to her.

As all attention becomes focused on him, Fitz clears his throat again. “Uh, yeah, hi. I’m Fitz. A lot of you know me already. I’m the best man. I was told that I had to give a speech, tradition and all. So, yeah. I have known Trip for a long time. He’s pretty much my best friend. He’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. I knew pretty much immediately when he met Skye that she was going to be it for him,” he says, smiling fondly over at the couple. “It was obvious in the way he talked about her—the way he wouldn’t stop talking about her.” There’s a titer of laughter, possibly from other people who had similar experiences. “When I met Skye, I understood everything. Not only was she perfect, but they were just perfect for each other.”

Skye leans back into Trip, who wraps both his arms tightly around her. Fitz grins at them, then rubs the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say congratulations to you two. There’s no people in the world who deserve this happiness more. I don’t—I’m not really the person to say a lot about love or all that, but I do think that—that if you find someone that makes you feel excited and peaceful at the same time, that’s someone who you have to hold on to. It’s not just someone to spend time with, though that’s important. It’s more than that.” His eyes drift from the couple over to Jemma and her mouth goes dry. “It’s someone who makes you wish you had every bit of time there was, who makes you value every moment of time you have. You want to build a life with them because you actually feel alive.” Clearing his throat, he raises his champagne flute to the room. “To Trip and Skye.”

There’s a murmur of agreement and Jemma feels her mouth form the words, but she isn’t sure if any sound comes out. As Fitz takes his seat, his face bright red from the continued attention he’s receiving from Trip, Skye, Hunter, and Bobbi, Jemma drains her champagne. She feels lightheaded and short of breath and giddy.

When the band starts up again, playing one of Trip’s favorite songs, Fitz stands up. Jemma thinks he’s about to go get more food, but instead he holds a hand out to her. “Did you want to…to dance? With me?”

She feels no hesitation as she rests her hand in his. “I would love to.”

They join the crowd of dancers and she wraps both of her arms around his neck, sliding in close to him. He’s surprised, she can sense it immediately, but he relaxes just as quickly, setting his hands on her hips and drawing her into his body. For a moment, she stares at him, entranced by the pink in his cheeks, the shape of his mouth. His eyes seem like they can see into every part of her and it makes her shiver pleasurably, until it becomes too much.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she notes how well she fits there. He smells good, she notes, nuzzling closer to his neck. She wonders how she never noticed before, wonders why it’s suddenly making her stomach flip in interesting ways. It’s the atmosphere of romance, she tells herself as one of his warm palms strokes up her back, fingers brushing against the bared skin between her shoulder blades. He murmurs something low and wordless in her ear and she presses in closer, unable to fully convince herself that this sense of yearning she feels could be manufactured by the magic of a moment.

They sway together for so long that time ceases to exist for her—she’s completely relaxed within his grip, though it feels like every nerve is alight, just waiting for the simple touch of his fingers against her arm or neck or lower back. She supposes, perhaps, that the band has played faster songs, but she can’t hear any other melody than that which is playing in her head and it sounds like his heartbeat pounding steadily beneath her ear.

She’s forced to break away when Skye announces that it’s time to toss the bouquet. Fitz slowly, hesitantly releases her, his hands trailing down her back and leaving her covered with goosebumps and the reminder of his touch. “Thanks for dancing with me,” he whispers in her ear before he retreats back to their table. She feels completely on display standing in the middle of the dance floor and she wonders if everyone can see the need that she feels is surely evident on her face, marked into her skin, visible on every part of her.

The other single women join her and it’s easy to pretend that her inability to move was the plan all along as Skye stands on the other end of the floor to throw the bouquet. There’s some friendly jostling before Skye lets it fly.

When the bouquet lands in her grasp, Jemma stares down at it in shock. There’s a cheer throughout the hall, as well as Hunter’s even louder call of, “Oh, thank god” as Bobbi elbows her playfully. Skye turns around and winks at her, and Jemma wonders if her friend was aiming for her, or would even tell her if she was.

Once the shock fades, Jemma raises the bouquet above her head in celebration, trying to play along with it all. She takes a few pictures with Skye, then Skye and Trip. When she prods Skye about whether she had an intended target, she simply grabs her groom and takes him to dance, leaving Jemma without answers.

Satisfied that everything is continuing to run well in the reception hall, Jemma drops by May’s table to grab the room key and heads to the elevators. She knows May checked into the honeymoon suite on behalf of the couple between the ceremony and the reception, but Jemma made specific requests of the room and she has a compulsive need to make sure everything is working out according to plan. More importantly, she thinks a little air might do her some good. Outside of the ballroom, the room seems so much quieter. Her heels echo even on the plush carpeted floors of the hotel as she heads down the empty corridors of the hotel to the honeymoon suite.

The room is decorated exactly to her specifications: there are rose petals everywhere, covering the bed and floor and countertops. Vanilla candles have been set out on every surface and she knows that someone will come to light them right before the reception ends. The sheets are blue silk in the same color of her own dress and she loves the sensation as she runs her hands across them, then gently rests the bouquet in the middle of the thick pile of pillows. Their bags are already in the closet, along with a gift basket from the hotel and there’s a large box of condoms that she assumes were a gift from Bobbi. Always thinking ahead, that one.

A knock on the door startles her and her dress flutters at her ankles when she spins towards it. “Jemma? It’s Fitz.”

Her heart lodges in her throat as she reaches for the door handle, opening it up for him. “Hi,” she says breathlessly.

“Hi,” he says, running a hand through his hair. He stares around the room, taking in the surroundings for just a second before focusing his attention on her. “I just wanted to—I mean, well, I wanted to see—”

Rather than let him continue to ramble, she takes his head in her hands and drags him down for a kiss. Instantly he stops talking, kissing her hard. His hands cradle the back of her neck as his lips caress hers and she can already feel the heat pooling in her stomach from just the pressure of his mouth.

The kiss is searing, passionate—one of Jemma’s hands leaves his jaw so she can wind her fingers through his hair, tugging on the short strands on the back of his head as her lips glide over his. He moans and the sound makes every last thought she was desperate to hold on to fly out of her head, replaced only with need and desire.

Teeth clash before his find her bottom lip, tugging as her eyelids flutter. Licking into his mouth, Jemma is eager to taste him, wants to memorize him with all of her senses. Her nerves spark with pleasure as she draws her hand down his neck, feeling the muscles strain as he leans into the kiss. She can hear his small grunts and sighs every time they pull away for air, only for a second before he kisses her again. He’s just as hungry as she is, ravenous as he kisses her feverishly.

There’s a wall behind her, she realizes as he guides her against it, pressing her there as his mouth makes quick work of her neck. As his lips and teeth and tongue explore every inch of skin bared by her dress, she shakes with rising tension, sure that only the structure and his arms are keeping her standing. She gasps when his tongue traces the line of her collarbone, hums when his eyelashes create butterfly kisses on her freckles. She feels like she might split into a million pieces when his lips follow the sweetheart neckline of her bodice, lingering in the middle.

Grabbing his tie, she yanks him back up to her mouth and she kisses him. He holds one hand against the wall to support himself over her as the other tightens around her hip and she lets her hands roam his chest until the jacket of his suit tumbles to the floor. Her hands go around his back, pulling him closer to her until she’s pinned to the wall by his body.

As he kisses her neck, slowly, gently, taking his time to create a lasting impression, his hand drifts down her leg, then up again. His fingers dance across the sensitive skin of her calf, then her thigh, leaving her gasping, her nails digging into his back. When he dips his finger under the elastic of the garter, she bites his shoulder to hold back a curse, then groans as he tugs it down and off her leg. She rocks her hips against him, encouraging him to remove something else from under her dress, but he’s too intent on kissing her, sealing his lips to hers.

She’s absolutely breathless as she holds his arms, gripping him tightly. Her understanding of the room keeps reminding her that there’s a bed not a few feet away, that he needs to take her to that bed, needs to take her in every way. She rolls her body into his, swallows his moan, and tries to guide him that way when there’s a chirp in his pocket.

He breaks away with a harsh groan, fumbling with his phone as she tugs on the belt loops of his pants. “They’re—” he tries, but his voice is hoarse, broken. He clears his throat. “They’re about to cut the cake.”

Jemma drops her hands and leans back against the wall, breathing heavily. Her heart is beating so fast she thinks it could burst right out of her chest. “Right. Right, of course.”

“We should—”

“I’ll be right behind you,” she says, smiling tremulously at him. He takes a step back and she can see some sort of statement die on his lips. Instead of leaving right away though, he cups her face in both hands and kisses her slowly, sweetly and she melts from the tenderness.

Without another word, he puts his jacket back on and straightens his tie. As he heads out the door of the suite, she can see him jam her garter into his pocket and the visual is enough to set her body on fire. Covering her face with her hands, she counts backwards from a hundred, ashamed at herself for almost having sex in her best friend’s honeymoon suite, but knowing she would do it again if they hadn’t been interrupted. She does not feel ashamed enough not to take a handful of condoms from the box in the closet and tuck them into her bra.

It’s a large box and they won’t need them all tonight anyway.

She checks herself in the mirror before she leaves, but she’s not sure she’s not a total mess as she walks into the ballroom. She’s sure her hair is in complete disarray, that her neck is already bruised, that her lips are swollen from his kisses. She’s sure that everyone she passes knows that she’s a walking cliché, the maid of honor who hooked up with the best man. But as Fitz smiles at her from where Trip and Skye are posing with the cake, she can’t seem to give much of a damn.

“Okay, who wants a piece of—what did we get again? Hazelnut praline something?” Trip says as they cut into the first slice. Skye laughs, but smudges icing on his nose as she rolls her eyes. Jemma knows that she should probably help, but May has always been better with knives and she leaves her to it, sidling up to Fitz instead.

He rocks back on his heels and Jemma can’t hide her smirk when she sees that his hair is slightly askew. “Look, Jemma—”

“I’ve got a room,” she says before he can finish that statement. It shocks him into silence, as she hoped it would. “I assumed I would be too tired to drive home tonight, so. It’s 303.”

Fitz swallows hard and licks his lips slowly. “Right. Um, well, I’m supposed to pick them up tomorrow morning and take them to the airport.” His hand sits casually on her back—or it would be casual if that hand hadn’t recently been up her skirt, if it wasn’t currently stroking the zipper of her dress. “Would be an easier drive if I was already at the hotel, I think.”

“Agreed,” she says, wincing as her voice pitches higher than normal. “You’d save a lot of time. And gas.”

“Right.” When he looks at her, she can see the fire in his gaze and she has to look away before she makes another decision that is patently unwise. “I’m going to go get some cake.” She watches him go, urging herself to temper the longing for just a little while more.

The last part of the wedding seems to drag—she has cake, which is delicious; she dances with her friends, and they laugh; she spends far too long saying goodbye to people, when she doesn’t really know these people. They do thank her for helping to plan such a nice wedding, and while she’s appreciative, the real attention she wants isn’t here at this reception. That’s not for them to know though and she laps up the praise she can get.

Once all the guests have left and Trip and Skye are settled into their honeymoon suite, she heads to room #303. Her bag is already there and while it’s not as luxurious as the honeymoon suite, it’s a nice room. After taking off her shoes and removing the condoms from her bra, she paces back and forth anxiously. This is all beyond her planning. She doesn’t have candles or music or fancy lingerie. Should she be undressed? Wearing the hotel robe?

Her worrying is interrupted by his presence at the door and when she opens it, he’s smiling at her. “Jemma.”

“Fitz.”

He kisses her again, one hand on her neck, the other locking and bolting the door behind him. She pulls at his tie, at his jacket, at his shirt, desperate to get him unclothed as quickly as possible. His work is easier—a simple pull of her zipper and her dress is pooling at her feet. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he mutters against her neck before kissing her again.

She realizes with a jolt that while the intensity has never been as overwhelming as today, this feeling is entirely familiar, the way her body calls for him, the eagerness to be with him. “Me too.”

Hopping onto the hotel bed, laying out for him as he tosses off pieces of his suit, Jemma grins in wonder at him. As quickly as he can, he joins her, placing kissing all across her face. “I’m glad you made it home for the wedding,” she says, capturing his lips fiercely.

The way he looks at her makes shiver happily and wrap herself around him, pressing her face into his neck. “Yeah,” he says and he nuzzles her neck. “Looks like I’m home now.”


End file.
